


Deadlock

by bittenfeld



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Anger, M/M, Physical Abuse, Torment, demon, suggestion of homosexuality, vengeance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-13 06:04:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1215406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittenfeld/pseuds/bittenfeld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Horseman of Death has been captured, and now, instead of him brutalizing Ichabod, with the tables turned, he is the one completely helpless before Ichabod – and Ichabod has a great deal of reason to exact cold vengeance against the monster who has taken so much from him.</p><p>New - Chapter 2:  After all the savage hell that the Horseman has put Ichabod through, Ichabod plans a very cold revenge for his captive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 99% of this was written before the episode of the Horseman’s interrogation, “Necromancer” was aired.  
> The exquisite intense scene of the Horseman’s capture from the previous episode inspired this story instantaneously – as he was voicelessly writhing and steaming beneath the lamps, I suddenly could hear Ichabod questioning tauntingly, “how does it feel to burn, Horseman, and not even be able to scream?” And after that, the whole story immediately flowed non-stop, and I wanted to get it down before I would be influenced by the episode itself. So, any parallels between this and “Necromancer” are just interesting coincidences (okay, except for the delicious “Washington’s prize soldier” line – I couldn’t resist, I had to add it! And which of course, inspired a whole ‘nother flock of plot bunnies – but that’s a story for another time…!)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Horseman of Death has been captured, and now, instead of him brutalizing Ichabod, with the tables turned, he is the one completely helpless before Ichabod – and Ichabod has a great deal of reason to exact cold vengeance against the monster who has taken so much from him.

“Well, this must be most embarrassing for you,” Ichabod taunted their headless prisoner. “The veritable Horseman of Death, tricked so easily by three mere mortals. How are you planning to explain this to your lord, Moloch? I don’t think he’ll be pleased.” Casually, hands clasped behind his back, he strolled around the heavily chained figure, ignoring the smoky mist and taint of cooking meat rising off the Horseman’s agonized body, baking beneath the UV light-banks as the demon jerked furiously and helplessly at the iron restraints. “Tell us, Horseman, what do you know of Moloch’s plans? What monsters lie in wait for us?”

“I shall not… tell you of Moloch’s plans,” the deep voice tight with pain retorted, though coming not from the throat of the bound prisoner, but rather from Andy Brooks’ own mouth, as the undead ex-deputy sat locked in a straight-back chair before the Horseman, the whites of his eyes fully blacked out in his trance state. “Even what little… I know.”

Ichabod allowed but a brief glance tossed Brooks’ way – the ventriloquist’s dummy – before turning his attention back to the shackled thing in the center of the stone dungeon chamber.

“But you – Ichabod Crane,” the demon noted pointedly, his voice strengthening despite the burning agony. “Washington’s prize soldier.” The smirk which he allowed played upon his puppet’s lips. “Tell me, Captain Crane… did you perform your…special services… _under_ the general?”

Abruptly, sharply Ichabod stiffened as if a ramrod had suddenly been thrust up his spine, and even Abbie gasped from her position near the chamber door. “That is a foul lie!” he spat, and his spittle misted over the thing before him.

Coiled with tension, the Horseman thrust forward belligerently toward Ichabod, as he taunted, “Or did he not choose to utilize all your talents and abilities as Colonel Tarleton did?”

Fire flashed in pale eyes. “You know nothing!”

Even in excruciating pain, the chuckle in the voice was obvious. “It’s true, I know little of your duties under General Washington. However I know everything of your duties under the colonel.”

Face twisting in fury, Ichabod swore, “You bastard! How dare you bring that up! Tarleton was a demon.”

“Indeed he was – under my control. He reported back to me everything about you – what you did for him… what he made you do – all of it. How he kept you on your hand and knees sometimes for hours…”

“Cease, monster!” And grabbing the demon by the dirty lapels, teeth gritted in a snarl, Ichabod shoved him back, causing him to nearly stumble over the steel hobble-rod forcing his feet wide apart.

But Death steadied himself and commanded, “You wanted me to speak… now you _will_ listen…!”

“You only wish to humiliate me before my friends, you monstrous beast!"  Ichabod’s fist clenched at his side.  "I would strike your face, if you had a face!"

The Horseman's chuckle played on Andy Brooks' lips, as the demon's chest hitched in silent amusement.  "The fact that I do not, is - ironically - your doing, isn't it?"

But Ichabod took no humor.  "Foul creature!"

“Crane!” Sharply Irving interrupted from his post against the north wall of the stone chamber.

Abruptly Ichabod drew himself up, and in a voice taut but level, he assured, “I am in control, I assure you, Captain.”

“Well, stay that way,” the black man admonished directly.

Holding himself in tightly, once again, Crane strolled around their inhuman prisoner. “I don’t consider myself a cruel man,” he continued once again calmly, as if the savage exchange had never occurred, “but as an officer of the Crown, I was commissioned to conduct numerous interrogations, and I’m ashamed to admit now the pain I deliberately caused prisoners to make them talk. However – ” Once again he stopped in front of the captive, eyes bright with anger. “ – for all the murders you have committed, the deaths of my comrades, and the merciless torment you have caused my friends and me, I have absolutely no compunction in causing you as much pain as I can.” Gaze fixed sharply on the raw meat of the severed neck, undeterred by the sight of the bloody flesh glistening and simmering under the radiation of the artificial sunlamps, he noted pointedly, “How does it feel to burn, Horseman, and not even be able to scream? And let me assure you, for as long as you are our prisoner, those lights will remain on you, cooking you slowly. You will never know the relief of darkness again.”

Then leaning even closer, lips negligently almost touching the dirtied uniform scarf blood-stained blackly from the beheading two centuries past, Ichabod murmured coldly, “And I don’t even have to concern myself that it might kill you – because you can’t die!”

Abruptly the Horseman jerked at his irons, and the thick chains clanked heavily.

In one corner of the dark humid room, Abbie flinched uneasily at the hollow metallic clanging. The heat and closeness of the dungeon-like chamber, not to mention the overpowering mystical energy which the Freemasons had concentrated here over the centuries, already played on her rising anxiety; and along with the cloying aroma of steaming demonic flesh and Andy Brooks’ slowly decaying body, she wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold out before losing her lunch.

And it didn’t help either – this dark change in her friend and partner, Ichabod Crane. The kind thoughtful level-headed man she thought she knew, now overshadowed by this cold avenging battle-raw stranger. She tried to tell herself that it was understandable: while she had lost her dear friend and mentor, Sheriff Corbin, to this headless horror, Crane had lost many comrades old and new to the demon’s cruel viciousness; indeed, his entire reality had been destroyed by this ghastly thing now chained before them. But after all, how little did she actually know of this stranger from a world entirely different from hers? what darkness lay in his own past that she couldn’t even guess at? She had naïvely assumed he was really no different than herself or anyone else out on the streets today – save for the out-of-date wardrobe which he preferred – but the truth was, he was nearly as much an anomaly in her world as the thing trapped in the center of the room. And she reminded herself: the next time she thought to let down her guard and take him for granted, to remember the image of eyes bright with fury and vengeance now - and perhaps not quite sane.

Uneasily she shifted her gaze from the horror show playing out in front of her, across Andy Brooks sitting motionlessly in his chair before the Horseman, to take in a quick observation of her boss, Captain Irving, standing in the other corner of the room. In the surreal lighting of candlelight and garish UV bulbs, she couldn’t be sure, but it seemed that even his dark brown skin had taken on a sickly pale greyish cast, and from the expression of distaste tightening his face, he didn’t look any better than she felt.

Ichabod now stood directly in front of the Horseman. “You want your head more than anything else. But you shall never retrieve it – I shall see to that,” he promised, each word spoken precisely and distinctly. “Though I regret that means I can never strike you down as you struck down the Leftenant,” – at that, Abbie’s head lowered, tears blurring her vision, and her hand once again crept protectively to the right side of her face which the flat of the Horseman’s axe-blade had nearly shattered, a month before, an eternity ago – “for I would make certain that you would know her torment a thousand times over. And if only you had enough of your throat left so that I could strangle you as you strangled me, torturing me nearly to the point of madness. Except…”

A change washed over Ichabod’s face, a dawning awareness. “… there is one thing I _can_ do to you as you did to me.” And raising both hands to the scarf bound around the stump of the Horseman’s neck, he began to unknot the dirty ragged material. “As you violated my body with your icy chill, I shall violate yours with blazing heat.”

Abruptly realizing what Crane intended, the Horseman jerked, trying to escape the intruding fingers, but the massive harness of chains binding him gave no slip. “You obscene bastard,” Ichabod swore between gritted teeth, as he unfastened the mud-dried uniform waistcoat and shirt, “may you be damned to the same hell you send everyone else to!” And jerking open the filthy material, he deliberately exposed the bare skin of the Horseman’s chest directly to the sun lamps.

Sharply the demon writhed, body convulsed in sudden massive agony, flesh smoking; and as he fell helplessly to his knees – the only movement allowed by the chains – a ghastly supernatural scream shrieked – and not from Brooks’ lips now, but rather from the headless thing itself – a rending screech which re-echoed throughout the stone chamber, audible not with ears but deep within the mind.

At that, Abbie dropped to her knees on the stone floor, screaming as well, hands uselessly clamped to her ears, while the barbecue stench of charring flesh finally overwhelmed her resistance and she lost the battle with her stomach.

Irving had reactively grabbed his ears as well. But instead of collapsing, he forced himself into action. And diving to the light control panel on the wall, he let go of one ear just quickly enough to strike a switch with his fist.

Instantly the lights dimmed to half-power, and blissfully the surreal scream faded and ceased. In relief, the captain sagged back against the wall.

Limply the Horseman hung in his chains, shoulders and chest heaving desperately.

But at the interruption, Ichabod whirled furiously toward the other man, vicious anger shifting from the demon to Irving. “WHAT – ” he raged, eyes blazing, “ – _do you think you are doing?!_ ”

“Crane!” the captain barked. “Snap out of it!”

Aggressively Ichabod lurched forward as if on the verge of attack. “How _dare_ you interfere…!! ”

Straightening off the wall, Irving settled his weight evenly on both feet, balanced to meet any assault. “You’re out of order, Crane, you’re losing it!”

“This is _my_ interrogation, Captain!”

“Yes. And we won’t get the answers we need if you ruin him!”

For a moment Ichabod faced him; then, impetus broken, he turned without a word and stalked out of the chamber. With a heavy sigh of relief, Irving leaned against the wall again. Stiffly Abbie gathered herself up off the floor, coughing and snuffling, trying to clear the last of the vomit from her throat.

Only Andy Brooks, still seated in front of the Horseman’s collapsed form, eyes blacked over in his entranced state, remained unmoved by the crisis.

“Mills,” Irving spoke calmly, despite his pounding heart. “Go wash up, take a break, then come back here and guard the prisoner while I have a word with Crane.”

“Yes sir,” Abbie managed to rasp through a bile-burned throat, and somehow got her feet working under her to retreat as quickly as possible.

“Needless to say,” the captain added, “don’t approach Crane.”

The tired dry look shot back at him assured she had no reservations about obeying that order.

 * * *

Irving found him in the underground Masonic meeting hall, a short distance away from the dungeon.

With his back to the doorway and the man who entered, Ichabod offered forthrightly, “I apologize, Captain, for my lack of decorum. I promise I shall control myself henceforth.”

Glancing about their surroundings, attitude deceptively calm while observation skills took in every detail, the captain noted, “Can’t scream, hmm?”

“An… unfortunate miscalculation on my part for which I also apologize profusely.”

“Which nearly cost us the interrogation.”

“Again, my apologies. And, as my commanding officer… pro tem, you are certainly authorized to discipline me any way you see fit.”

“I’m not going to discipline you,” Irving admonished levelly. “We’re all under stress. Just don’t let him bait you like that.”

“Yes, I shall be more careful," Ichabod acknowledged.  "And…” In embarrassment, he glanced down. “In regard to his improper comments about General Washington, I wish to say…” A deep intake of breath betrayed his discomfort. “I should like to assure you most definitely that nothing untoward ever happened between the general and myself.”

“I’m sure it didn’t,” Irving agreed. “And also, just to let you know, whatever else might or might not have happened between you and anybody else long ago doesn’t matter either, and won’t be spoken of again.”

Ichabod’s muscles relaxed in relief. “Thank you, Captain, I am beholden to you for your kindness. And Lieutenant Mills…”

“Is sensitive enough not to mention it again either.” Then turning from his perusal of the room, Irving steadied his gaze upon the other man. “However, regarding the matter at hand: you say you’ve conducted interrogations before. Well, I don’t know what procedures were common two-hundred-and-fifty years ago, but that’s not the way we do it nowdays.”

“This is hardly a normal situation, Captain Irving.”

“I agree.”

“You do not understand. We are not merely dealing with an evil criminal perpetrator. We are dealing with Evil itself. We are dealing with the potential destruction of the entire human race. The normal procedures hardly apply.”

“Which makes this a little more important than seeking personal vengeance, no matter how justified, don’t you agree?”

“He has killed my friends, my comrades.”

“Vengeance has no place in an interrogation. You know that I lost a good friend as well to him yesterday. Not to mention numerous citizens of this county, whose protection was my responsibility and at which I failed.”

A stiff nod. “Point taken.”

“I understand the, uh, sin-eater separated your bloodline from the Horseman’s.”

“Yes. And good riddance.”

“Is there any possibility that you two are still connected in any slight way?”

“Theoretically, no. I don’t feel him in me as I once did.”

“You also haven’t been in such close proximity to him since the connection was broken, have you?”

“You think that he is still affecting me, exerting a force over me.”

“I think you can’t control the situation up close to him. I think maybe Lieutenant Mills or I should conduct the interrogation.”

“So, do you think _you_ can control the situation, Captain? Do your modern ‘police procedures’ include interrogation techniques for demonic entities?”

“No,” Irving admitted. “They don’t. And there are no courses in the police academy curriculum that deal with Apocalyptic horsemen either.”

“Are you afraid?”

“I’m absolutely terrified.”

  
* * * * *

_to be continued…_

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After all the savage hell that the Horseman has put Ichabod through, Ichabod plans a very cold revenge for his captive. (This isn’t really a chapter, it’s more just bits and pieces that I have in place to be developed later. But since it might be awhile before I get to it, I at least wanted to put these out for your amusement...!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my stories are somewhat connected, so this story takes into account events that happen in “Helldream”, as well as “Incubus” (the worst of which is to come – in both those stories…!) It also takes place after the Sin Eater has separated Ichabod’s and the Horseman’s bloodlines.
> 
> Oh, and the reason I haven’t written more yet on all my stories is that, instead, I’ve been spending most of my hobby time putting together a plastic 12” Headless Horseman doll. He’s in full uniform regalia, with all six of his weapons, and can be displayed headless or with his head, and his face masked or unmasked. I also got a white horse for him, with full tack, which he can ride as well. And he is GORGEOUS!! (okay, so maybe ‘gorgeous’ isn’t quite the appropriate word for a vicious demonic axe-killer from Hell…)

* * *

“Well,” Irving pronounced. “It looks like we now have the proverbial tiger by the tail.”

“That’s quite an apt turn of phrase, Captain.”

“It’s not original,” the black man dismissed. Through the glass window which divided the observation room from the main chamber, Irving watched their shackled prisoner, who now stood once again, in pain, but composed and passive beneath the burning lights. “The question is, what do we do with him now? You realize we can’t ever let him loose – and he can never die. Which means he will have to guarded ‘round the clock. Forever.”

“Then I volunteer,” Crane spoke up. “I will gladly keep this monster company for all eternity if necessary.”

“For all eternity?” Abbie gave a little smile, but not out of humor. “Do you plan on living that long?”

“Perhaps that is possible. Who knows what lingering effects Katrina’s spell might have had upon my mortal flesh?”

“You’d be trapped down here with the Horseman – you’d be as much a prisoner as he is.”

“Yes, that is the… reality of the situation,” Crane agreed.

“Ichabod, you’d go mad.”

“Quite likely.”

At that, Abbie had no more to say, but the desperate longing in her silence spoke eloquently.

“Leftenant… no – Abbie,” Ichabod responded gently, “understand: this is my duty. My only purpose for being here in your world at all, is to stop him. Two-hundred-and-fifty years ago, we were each commanded: the Horseman to kill me; and I, him. And those orders remain for both of us, regardless of how many centuries pass. He and I may no longer be joined by blood, but we are joined by mutual purpose, and we always shall be.”

* * *

“I would caution about showing him any mercy whatsoever. Do you know what happens to the man who compassionately offers food to your proverbial tiger?”

“He gets his hand bitten off.”

“Most assuredly, Captain.”

* * *

“Congratulation, demon, you should be pleased – you have finally won me over. I feel drawn to you.” Breath heavy with anticipation, blows across the Horseman’s raw neck. “And I have missed our bond as well,” Ichabod admits, as he reaches up to the Horseman’s buttons again.

Expecting to be burned in the lights as before, the Horseman stiffens.

“You needn’t fear, devil,” Ichabod assures. “I will not torment you now. I shall when I choose to, but that is not what I intend now.” Steadily he unbuttons the Horseman’s waistcoat and shirt, then exposes a knife he had palmed in his right hand. “Now I shall join us again. It’s what you want as well, isn’t it?” And placing the knife edge to the Horseman’s breast, he deliberately slices into the cold flesh.

Immediately the captive writhes in agonizing pain.

* * *

Abbie brings by groceries, and sees a bloody rag wrapped around Ichabod’s hand. He just shrugs it off, just a little accident, it’s nothing.

But then she sees the Horseman’s open shirt, and all the dried blood soaked down the front of his uniform, and realization begins to dawn. “Oh my god, Ichabod, what have you done?” she gasps in sinking horror.

“I joined us by blood again,” he calmly admits. “That is as it should be.”

“Oh no. No.” She feels like she’s been kicked in the gut. “After all we did to separate you two. Oh, I can’t believe it. Oh god.” Moisture wells in her eyes, as she looks up at him. “Why, Ichabod? Please don’t tell me you’re going to kill yourself. Please say you’re not.”

“Not… yet,” he assures. A cold purpose focusses his gaze. “He is mine now, and I intend to enjoy the turn-about for awhile.”

“Ichabod, you can’t control him. You know how it was before.”

“Before, it was my guilt and regret that gave him power over me. But that has all been cleansed away, thanks to your sin-eater. Now it is my vengeance that binds us, and I shall use that against him. He will know every ounce of my hatred. And we have all the time in the world… until I choose to end it.”

She feels all the stability collapse beneath her. “Oh god, you really have gone mad.”

* * * * *

_to be continued…_

 


End file.
